Mortals In The Dragons Eye

This was the castle Tanvia. Built seven hundred years past by a man they called her ancestor. Now he haunted the castle by night and day. Tanvia was a mighty warrior, cunning, proud, and unbeaten in combat. He had secured the future for his people, and for his family. Now among them all–all the Tanvia’s she hid. His image was carved many, many times in the peace that followed. The freedom he had brought was doom to the stone of the mountains, and gold to the pockets of the stone carvers. In every hall, and for every one of the noble families his image had been carved once, twice and again. The silverware bore his mark, and the walls his symbols. Sarah could escape none of it, even the wool wrapped around her slender frame to keep it warm was bound with his name, and the likeness of his outline. It did her no more than warmth, and to remind her once again that she was the last of his kin. The line had been shattered and attacked time and again. With the passing of Tanvia there was none who remained to keep alive the name, the image, or the strength. Her family had ruled for thirty-five score years and now she was the last.

The feudal lords seemed to close about her. Sarah stood her body no longer cold, but angry. In every direction she could feel them like leeches, two of them now slept down the hall from her chamber. She drew the black cloak about her shoulders and slipped down the hall her footsteps barely whispers on the cold of the floor. She passed their doors and pushed back at the thoughts of gold, women, and gambling which seemed to creep from their corrupt minds and leek through the walls and underneath the door. in the darkness she nearly ran into the patrol. Throwing herself silently against the wall she waited her breath hard and fast as he passed by. Something dark was amiss in the castle tonight. Turning downwards she followed the twisting staircases of the servants. No one traversed them tonight. The servants were undeniably lazy when there was no one around to watch them. She passed by Garron the head masters door. She heard nothing, leaning close to the door she pressed her ear to it. Not even a slightest breath. She frowned, how unlike Garron, he never woke once he had drunk his fill. The house would have been a bustle with activity if he were awake no matter the hour. If Garron did not sleep no one did.
Passing through the kitchen she saw the cooks passed out on the table an empty wineskin at their elbows. Barely a rustle her robe made as she slipped into the pantry. She had come for food, but she felt uneasy. Turning away from the door and the drunken cooks she went to the shelf. Bread baked that morning, as well as a handful of onions she reached upwards drawing a sack from the shelf and began to fill it.

“Leave the turnips.”
Sarah slammed her hand to her mouth and bit down dampening away the scream which threatened to emerge.
“They went bad this morning you see,” out of the darkness of the corner a face appear shrouded by a dull red hood, “you should find the forest you know. It isn’t safe here tonight.” The man hopped forward. He stood only half a man’s height and his face was covered in dark scarring as if his head had been held to a fire. “Hurry.” He scampered past her his movements shockingly swift for someone his size.

Sarah leaned against the shelf her breathing slowing from its ragged pace. She looked down to where her fist was tightened against the shelf–the knuckles were white and blood dripped from one finger. She let go. Grabbing the sack she started for the door. This was her castle after all, what was she afraid of. A voice at the door stopped her. Curious she slipped forward into the kitchen and dropped in the corner by the stove, here the shadows from the fire made it seem as if there was only wall but a child could fit, or a small woman. “Check the pantry, I don’t want anyone listening.” A gloved hand smacked the door with an authoratiave slap. Sarah winced as the man strode through the door. “The plan is in place then Morgrid.” He shoved the cooks aside letting them fall with a crack to the floor.
“Drugged,” Sarah whispered silently.
“Yes, mi’lord it is. They are going for the girl now.” A tall bent man circled around the table and began to scratch on the table with his long white knife. “Here is the castle, our forces converged from the west and south. The gate has already been opened we can thank their master,” he looked with a sneer at the two cooks on the floor. “they are already flooding through the town going door to door. All who do not cede are killed or taken captive.” The last part rolled off his tongue with a distasteful grimace. “Your men are effective at that. The purpose of this mission is of course the lady of the house. Her blood is necessary for what lies ahead.” The bent man cocked his head to one side his mouth going flat and curled in a smile sick and putrid. “Keep her alive will you? I have other business.” He turned and walked away his cane dragging the floor with each step.” He stopped looking back at the fire which still blazed in the oven his eyes flickering madly, “Kar’no, alive mind you, but other things were not expressly forbidden. Except one–you know what–so be careful.”
There was a silence as all that remained was the crackling of the fire along side two heart Kar’no did not turn back as he left leaving the door cracked open.
Sarah waited for a full sixty heartbeats before she emerged stepping over the bodies of the cooks she turned to the pantry and slipping back through the door crawled over the sacks and past the barrels of wine and mead that lined the back wall. There where very few knew where to look an empty barrel was shoved tight to the wall. She tapped it once hard wood against her soft knuckles the barrel opened in half and Sarah slipped inside and through the opening on the other side. The barrel closed of its own accord and there was only silence and small black rat with one ear chewed half-off and a chipped front tooth.

The passage was long and dark unused in the five years since she had last loved the secret passages of the castle. Dust and spiders covered her back and her hair as she slipped and crawled and climbed through the passageway. She emerged barely twenty of a man’s height from the outer wall of the castle. She pushed once, then twice against the trapdoor now overgrown in weeds and brush. It was well that men in war do not move quietly in the night or it would have been heard. She emerged to find soldiers marching in the darkness past the place where she lay panting and cold in the forest floor. She closed the trap door quietly and crawled backwards into the brush. There were shouts and a one of the night patrol died with a shout and scream. She ran. Branches tore at her dress, an owl hooted overhead in the darkness, and from behind she heard the sound of footstep which only made her run faster. Soon only her own ragged gasps and the pounding of her own heartbeat were all she could hear. She leaned heavily against the great oak tree listening vainly for the sound of pursuit. No one, she reasoned, could have known so quickly that she had escaped the castle. She stumbled forward only to find herself at the edge of a deep ravine, she tripped and fell. The ledge which hugged tightly steep wall it sprouted from was deep in leaves and dead brush which had gathered from the wind or chose stubbornly to live their despite how unsuitable for any form of life it was.

Sarah looked up wondering how hard it would be to climb up. The way down was manageable, but she was so tired. The leaves felt suddenly warm and soft. After all this she found that she was tired and could have hoped for no better place to hide. Drawing her cloak tight about her shivering frame she burrowed into the leaves until her face poked only barely above the surface. For the first time in many years she felt protected and safe. Sarah slept.

It was the final hour before dawn. In every direction the fires of the city burned brightly. The castle itself the last and highest point in the city was still standing, but now it held a very different set of soldiers. “You are certain she is nowhere in the castle.” The bent man’s voice was cracking from the strain, “I do not bring back false reports to our master.” He turned to the man beside him. “It would not do to disappoint him unnecessarily.” He frowned and drew deeply on the pipe which jutted unceremoniously from his lip. “Take the men out. The destruction is done.” Alone in the tower he watched as the first rays of the sun poured over the castle. Beside him the body of a soldier served for his used ashes as he tapped his pipe on the helmet. “Now she will go to him, that will be just as well. This was the plan after all.” He frowned looking back at the castle. “I think we missed something though–can’t say what.” He climbed the stairs one by one his bent body contorting at every step.